


crossed lines, crossed hearts

by callingthequits



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, almost all of them aus, bunch of drabbles all pushed together, i am SUCH a sucker for these two, i kill one of them in a lot of these, no worries some of them are happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callingthequits/pseuds/callingthequits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In <em>all<em> the universes, there's always been an Eren Yeager and Jean Kirstein to go along with him. It's not always that they realize it -- between all the fights and all the bickering and all that goddamned <em>tension<em>-- but there's always been some kind of love between them anyway. 
</em></em></em></em></p><p><em><em><em><em>Sometimes, they do. And by then, it's too late to do anything about it.</em></em></em></em></p><p></p>
            </blockquote>





	crossed lines, crossed hearts

**Author's Note:**

> A mish-mash of AU!Jeaneren drabbles that's been sitting around in my computer since February, probably. Originally intended to be longer than it actually is, though. Can't do much about it. 
> 
> Written in a Fall Out Boy craze; title comes from The Phoenix.

In every universe, it’s always been them. It’s never in the same ways, of course – sometimes they are childhood friends, or a quarterback and a cheerleader, or a boss and his right-hand man. They, as a person and as individuals, are variables. They, as their connection, are constants. It is a curse and it is a blessing.

They do not know that their world is only the one of many. They never do.

All they do, another constant in the multiverse, is stop for a moment and think--

…

“Hey Eren,” Jean says. It’s not the first time that they’ve been paired together – apparently all of their teachers are evil incarnate and they like testing the limits of their classes – but it’s their senior year and Jean is honestly quite _bored_ with their cat and dog game. They’ve been playing it for years, sure, but the fire that’s charged their relationship with burning friction has long since faded away. Every time they argue now, it’s awkward and stilted with either Eren huffing but too worn for a comeback or Jean simply turning away.

It’s a sad improvement from their fistfights and loud words.

And Eren, being Eren, just snaps at Jean and says, “ _What_.” He’s turned his head back to look at him, all bright green eyes and furrowed eyebrows, the way it’s been for years and counting more by the seconds.

He’s been poring over a book which probably had no relevance at all to African slavery, determined to file through all the books he found for any information. Jean likes to think that he’s better than that, since he actually asked the librarian which books would focus on the subject. It’s not his fault that they were so hard to find. He barely goes in the library anyway.

So despite the fact that they’re both just a bit above average in grades, and that they both happen to be positively _hopeless_ at research in general, Jean asks, “You find anything yet?” Because, you know, at least he’s actually making an effort towards conversation.

The other boy has the gall to scowl at him. “Not any more than you have, I’m sure,” he drawls.

“Hey,” Jean says, a bit offended. “Is it my fault I just want to talk?”

“In a library?” Eren hisses out. He’s completely ignoring the book he’s holding. “You must be crazy.”

“Not any more than you are, I’m sure,” Jean parrots back. He makes an effort to be quieter though. Eren is visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t quite hold back the grimace. Jean tries not to stick his tongue out at the other boy, he really does, but it’s not like he had that much self-control anyway.

Eren looks massively unimpressed by it.

Sighing, Jean stands up and holds out his hand for Eren to take. "Look," he says, stubbornly not looking at the other boy, "if we can't find anything today, then we clear our heads and do it again tomorrow. The deadline for this is - what, next Tuesday? We have plenty of time."

"I'm not taking your hand, Kirschstein," Eren says, even as does. They both exit the library to disbelieving stares that they don't notice. "You do know that I'm going to Physics, right?"

"Well, yeah," Jean admits. "But I'm heading to the lab anyway, I have to pick some stuff up for my next class."

"Your next class is _French_ ," Eren points out, "which is in the other wing."

"I know _that_ ," Jean snaps. "Is it such a bad idea to want to walk you to class?"

"When Mr. Levi is your next teacher?" Eren asks. "Yes."

But despite that, Jean still ended up walking Eren to Physics, hand in hand, ignoring the sudden discomfort he felt when Eren let go. It was kind of nice.

...

Prince Jean yawns. "Oh, how this ball is ever so _boring_ ," he whines. The boy beside him sighs for a bit, clad in the formal clothes that look so out of place as compared to the usual chainmail. Marco _had_ always dreamed of serving the royal palace; it is not particularly his fault that he got assigned to overlook the young noble.

Jean almost pities him. The poor boy has always tried his best to keep up, after all. But Jean isn't that likely to simply stop, is he? In due time, yes; but for now, he is fine with the little responsibilities he has.

And perhaps in marrying the other kingdom's heir, of course.

Mikasa Ackerman is a beauty; a goddess of her own right. She does not look like her age -- she looks like younger, older, exactly that, and to summarize Jean would say that she was ethereal. She looks stunning in a maroon gown that only accentuates the curves she has grown, and the color only makes her raven hair all the more striking in the sea of pastel colors.

He has heard of her beauty all through the land, and even more lately from his hopeful parents. They say that he should be bound to another soon, and since the Asian heiress is the only royal woman in his age group--

Well. People in royalty never did have that much of a choice, did they?

And Jean, although he would always like be different, to be contrary to your typical prince and to be upheld as the _unique_ king of Trost, is just the same as all the other unlucky nobles.

He knows this, and it is damning.

For all of his bluster and confidence, Jean had never felt any of it. He would prance around the castle gardens, a smirk on his face like he was already king, and nobody would ever guess that he was thinking of his own insignificance. He would do his responsibilities and take care of whatever he has to, and he would feel oddly unreal. For all the color of the flowers in the bloom, he would look at them and see in black and white.

He sighs, world-weary.

"Jean?" Marco asks him hesitantly. "If I may inquire, you seem a bit...?" He closes his mouth when Jean looks at him, a downward cuve on his lips. Marco clears his throat, and raises his hand.

"Servant!" he says, and a brunet in front turns back. He has stunning green eyes, and for a moment Jean is almost entranced by them. The deep red lined with golden ensemble, so different from Trost's traditional navy blue and pale greys, only accentuates them. _How pretty_ , he thinks, as the boy turns his head, undoubtedly to serve to his Lady Mikasa.

Jean moves before he can stop himself. "Hey!" he yells, running forward and grabbing the boy's wrist. They should be about the same age, Jean observes, the smoothness of his face about equal to his own. But his skin is touched by the sun, his hair darker and thicker than Jean's, eyes brighter and bigger and all the more passionate. It is all the more easier to fall in love with him, for he is active and restless and alive. The personification of color.

The aforementioned yanks his hand from Jean's, their fingers touching for a second. Marco, Jean can hear, makes a strangled noise from behind him, stepping forward. The boy's face is flushed red, and he plunges back into the crowd before Jean can ask him to stay.

Marco almost laughs, and Jean would have punched him for doing so. His world is grey again.

...

Jean is nervous. That's the simple truth of it all; he's nervous as all hell. He's worried that he'll forget the chords, the timing, and he's worried he'll even forget how to play the damn guitar. The strings are familiar, and so is the crowd, the band, the everything -- but Jean's just a perpetual worrier even though he's literally been the bass for years.

He sucks in a deep breath.

_God dammit_.

Eren laughs behind him, and that's all great for him, Jean thinks. He's been with his sticks for so long that he hardly feels comfortable using a fork and a spoon like normal people do. No, no, no, he's weird and uses chopsticks like he was born with them. It kinda helps that he's fierce and fire and aggressive like all hell; he can bang those drums like no other. Makes you wonder if he bangs people like that.

Jean goes red. If the fans find out he's playing half-hard, they'd go ballistic.

"Dude," he feels rather than sees Eren grin as he says it, "I don't get you."

"We can't all be natural people-pleasers like you, man," Jean practically growls it out, he's gritting his teeth so hard. It's getting hot in the room.

Eren turns him around so he can look him in the eye. Or as close as he can get, considering he's a few inches shorter than him. His eyes are sparkling green when he whispers, "Come on. You'll be okay."

And it's so weird. Five years ago, rumors had it that the band would split up because of their constant fights. Jean had even believed those rumors, maybe even started them in the first place with a few offhand comments. And here they are, so close and almost affectionate, and Jean feels like he should lean down or something--

...

The clouds are grey. It's raining in Germany, and their red flag flaps with the wind. It contrasts too much with the color of the ground below; buildings touched with orange, Jean's tawny hair and the blood on his cheek, and with the green-eyed Jew right in front of him.

"Stand down!" The boy yells at him, a desperate tone to his voice. He pushed his two companions inside the building a few blocks back, ignoring their pounding on the door. Jean almost feels sorry for him, but he can't allow himself to be.

They'll rise out of the ashes. He can't let this little kid stop that.

He aims the gun and says, "You don't have the authority to say that, scum." These are words he doesn't mean. If the circumstances were different, if the stakes weren't so high, he might've took the boy -- a teenager, really, by the looks of it -- into his house. He's a pretty young thing, but Jean isn't that type of guy. Still, for a split second, he can imagine sharing with the boy. He would cook and clean, and Jean would be the breadwinner of their little arrangement. Every time he would get his pay, they would go out and Jean would promise that they would go to France, someday. They wouldn't be able to, they both would know, but they would so happy. So fucking happy.

But happiness is overrated. Jean's learned that long ago.

If the kid hasn't already, then he just has to educate him.

"Give me a reason not to shoot you in the face right now," Jean growls, and the boy flinches. He doesn't step back though. "I'll let you go if you do. So tell me, what makes you so special?"

The bright green eyes blaze, jaw clenched. "You will lose this war."

Jean laughs, a bit meanly. He almost lets his gun fall to the ground, and the fires behind him make him look absolutely demonic. The blood on his face must suddenly look so fitting. "You are not," he smirks, "the first person to say that."

"Then I'll be the one of many that have been telling the truth," the boy says, loudly and proudly. "You will lose, and my death will change absolutely nothing, and you will let me go."

Jean is almost inclined to believe him. "You sound so sure for such a small thing. How do you know you're right? More importantly, how do _I_ know you're right?"

"You already do," the boy says in a smug voice. "You know in your heart that I'm right. You're just too much of a _coward_ to accept it and stop fighting. Spineless and worthless, aren't you? I bet you've never been brave in your entire _life--_ "

He fires a shot. The boy dodges and simply walks forward.

"You're just a big man parading around and shooting people because you don't get what it means to lose someone, you know? For all your talk of me being small, you forget that so are you. And it just hurts, doesn't it, the realization that you will amount to nothing but dust on the streets, and you can't accept that because you're too _dumb_ to.

"Well, I do!" The boy screams. Jean's hands are shaking too much for him to hold the trigger properly, and he doesn't want to actually hurt the kid. Not like (not like someone else, not like before, not like _him_ ) he's heartless. "I have to! I have to survive, to _live_! You don't know the feeling of--"

Jean bitterly laughs, and the boy almost seems discouraged by the sound. He looks down as Jean growls out, "And how sure are you of that? You think that just because I'm aiming the gun at you, that because I'm an enemy soldier, that I'm not human?"

The boy flinches as Jean drops the weapon. He cries out, "Well, I am! I have feelings and I have friends and I have a family and I have a _soul_ , an actual soul that comes with an actual life and an actual heart! _I'm just the same as you are!_ "

"I--" the boy stutters, and his face twitches like he's torn between an apology or an insult. Suddenly, his eyes widen before he's screaming out, "NO!"

Jean has a vague idea why when he crumples over the ground, a hand over his stomach, and the blood that seeps through it.

He looks up, and the pain makes his eyes go blurry with tears. And for some reason, he feels a deep surge of betrayal when all the boy does is _look_ , like Jean wasn't dying, bleeding out on the already bloody stone floor, surrounded by the fires and they blaze.

Nobody's coming near him. Nobody will mourn him.

"Eren," a black-haired girl says, closely followed by a shocked blond boy. She has a smoking rifle in her hand. The boy -- Eren, he now knows -- makes a distressed noise as the girl pulls him away from Jean, the blond walking slowly as if analyzing their surroundings. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Eren struggles from her grip, and makes his way over to bleeding soldier. He reaches out as Jean looks up at him and--

...

"Take it!" Jean screams. He's shaking, badly, and he knows that the shadows of the forest are taking control of his face, rendering him almost unseen. But Eren has to see him, he absolutely _has_ to, because he looks honest-to-god _terrified_ beneath Jean, hanging on by his fingers.

Eren, who has always been the grim and resolute face of the legion, furrowed eyebrows and firm lips leading the way to victory.

Eren, determined and vengeful, the only one in the squad who understands what it means to lose someone to _them_.

Eren, who Jean had first completely detested, who didn't know how to deal with the new, loudmouth kid and simply bantered back because he was the victim in their relationship, who Jean had developed a grudging respect for in the past two years.

Eren, who is looking up at Jean with wide eyes and blood on his face, telling him to _run, run you fucking idiot, run and let me go and leave me here and GO._ But he still looks so scared, which is not how he should look, Eren should look like hope of all of mankind, making some grandeur speech about how Witches should be exterminated and not like some _kid_ being scolded by his mother.

Jean reaches for his bag, only for the shadow to grab it, eerily silent as she gets it first. He watches in horror as the Witch pulls it toward her, and her hand enlarges so she can crush it in her fist. Jean thinks that with her pale skin, soft eyes, and elegant black hair she could have been beautiful. But she roars, calling to her the ravens, and Jean is lucky he always packs an extra knife, so he leaps up and attacks, his movements fluid and precise. He loses himself for a moment, absorbing the raw energy of the fight, and he honestly forgets for a second.

He forgets that Eren is still hanging by his fingertips, in the hole the Witch made specifically for him.

_"I remember you,"_ the Witch snarls. She grabs Eren by the leg with a shadow, trying to pull him down. He groans in agony, and Jean looks back to see him bite his lip so hard it bleeds. A raven almost pokes him in the eye. _"Why don't you remember **ME**?"_

She loses control, and the clouds block the light of the moon. The ravens squawk shrilly, and Jean fights blindly as they are left in darkness. Distantly, he hears a loud thump and Eren's muffled scream, and Jean curses the fact that they ventured so far away from the others. They were planning to head for the city, looking for new recruits, and now --

Now they are here by the far end of the forest. Too far for the others to hear any dying screams. Too near to Witch territory to be ignored.

And Eren is the closest thing their squad has to a leader. The 104th sector, the one most had given up on. The only reason why they weren't evicted from the League was because Eren had convinced their leaders not to. Otherwise they'd be mindless villagers that the government has tricked not to believe in Witches, or WItch food, or Witches themselves.

Jean had once said, when Eren challenged him to quit, that he couldn't, and that most importantly, he _wouldn't_. Eren had taken him in, however grudgingly, and Jean had never liked unpaid debts.

He can't go back on his word now.

"Take my hand," Jean pleads. The ravens are attacking with more force than ever, the Witch is losing control, and Jean can't see Eren. But he follows the disguised sobs and the soft grunts, yelling. "Eren, wherever you are, follow my voice and take my hand!"

The Witch growls from somewhere behind him, making strangled noises. Her hair is in complete disarray. And Jean can't see Eren, Eren can't see him, and where is Eren's hand _where is he **I can't hear him anymore--**_

...

\--the screams are too much and groans are too loud and Jean is stuck inside his house and he's almost too scared to move even though he has a knife in his hands and a hell of a punch.

And Eren Jaeger is right on his bed, bruises everywhere on his body and he doesn't seem to realize that the bleeding gash on his leg is a zombie bite and he's just talking and talking and Jean wants to shout at him--

...

\--he's so damn tired, come on, and who's idea was it to use boats as transportation? Jean runs and runs and runs and he ignores the officers telling him to slow down, wait in line, but Jean's not doing that, survival first right, and he almost jumps off the Titanic until he looks back to see that Eren isn't behind him anymore--

...

\--Jean is crying and hurting and _dying_ but to hell with this stupid dragon, he's getting Eren _out of there_ \--

...

"--could have been so good," Eren coughs, and Jean knows the cancer is--

...

"--Jean Kirschstein, I--"

...

Eren wakes up. His bones ache, he observes, and he turns his head to see dirty wood. He spends some moments looking at the dried blood some other soldier left there. He wonders how they died, sometimes. He grunts.

A shoe hits him on the leg. "You awake yet, Jaeger?"

He stares up at Jean's long face, a piece of cloth tied around his forehead, his gear thrown away to the side, and if he didn't know better, he'd say he almost looked worried. Eren did, though, and he knew for a fact that it was Jean's normal expression. For the past few months, at least, that was all anyone ever got to see.

It makes him sad sometimes, to know that. So he puts the other boy out of his misery and grins weakly. "Up and running, Kirschstein."

Jean wrinkles his nose a bit, and Eren would laugh if he could. At the state he's in, however; all he can manage is a small chuckle. His arms are still steaming, healing already, and it blurs his vision slightly, but he can still see Jean's lips twitch up. It warms him up inside, and Jean leans down to ruffle his hair a bit.

And he stops for a moment, and he thinks, " _If I could fall in love with you over and over again, I would."_

Jean smiles at him, and it's almost like they're thinking the same thing.


End file.
